Resurrection Rituals aren't all they're cracked up to be
by comicnut
Summary: Resurrection Rituals are tricky things. You don't always get what you expect. A series of vignettes detailing some times it went very, very wrong.


Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to J.K Rowling, I'm just playing with them.

Here's a few vignettes for your enjoyment. I don't think I've seem them any where before, but if someone else has used, my apologies. If anyone wants to use the ideas, feel free. I would like to know about them to see what you do with them.

 **Chapter 1 - Always use pure ingredients. No contaminants.**

Vignette 1 ****

Spells are finicky things. You have to do things just right to get the results you want. One wrong syllable, one wrong gesture and it's "OH-OH... Did I do tha-a-a-t?"

This is even more true of potions, and rituals ... especially Resurrection Rituals that combine them.

If Voldemort had been aware of certain contaminants in Harry's blood, he would have avoided it at all costs.

 _"B-blood of the enemy …_ _forcibly taken …_ _you will …_ _resurrect your foe."_

Harry could do nothing to prevent it, he was tied too tightly…. Squinting down, struggling hopelessly at the ropes binding him, he saw the shining silver dagger shaking in Wormtail's remaining hand. He felt its point penetrate the crook of his right arm and blood seeping down the sleeve of his torn robes. Wormtail, still panting with pain, fumbled in his pocket for a glass vial and held it to Harry's cut, so that a dribble of blood fell into it.

He staggered back to the cauldron with Harry's blood. He poured it inside. The liquid within turned, instantly, a blinding white. Wormtail, his job done, dropped to his knees beside the cauldron, then slumped sideways and lay on the ground, cradling the bleeding stump of his arm, gasping and sobbing.

The cauldron was simmering, sending its diamond sparks in all directions, so blindingly bright that it turned all else to velvety blackness. Nothing happened….

 _Let it have drowned,_ Harry thought, _let it have gone wrong…._

And then, suddenly, the sparks emanating from the cauldron were extinguished. A surge of white steam billowed thickly from the cauldron instead, obliterating everything in front of Harry, so that he couldn't see Wormtail or Cedric or anything but vapor hanging in the air…. It's gone wrong, he thought … _it's drowned …_ _please …_ _please let it be dead…_

But then, through the mist in front of him, he saw, with an icy surge of terror, the dark outline of a man, tall and skeletally thin, rising slowly from inside the cauldron.

"Robe me," said the high, cold voice from behind the steam, and Wormtail, sobbing and moaning, still cradling his mutilated arm, scrambled to pick up the black robes from the ground, got to his feet, reached up, and pulled them one-handed over his master's head.

The thin man stepped out of the cauldron, staring at Harry … and Harry stared back into the face that had haunted his nightmares for three years. Whiter than a skull, with wide, livid scarlet eyes and a nose that was flat as a snake's with slits for nostrils …

Lord Voldemort had risen again.  
 _(Goblet of Fire, Chapter 32)  
_  
Suddenly, Lord Voldemort shuddered, his shoulders hunched up and his snakelike face contorted as if in great ... pain. He drew a ragged breath, "Wormtail, what have you..." Voldemort fell to his knees, doubled over in paroxyms of agony. "Ahhhhrrg!" he screamed.

Wormtail backed away in fear, clutching the bloody stump of his arm to his chest.

Voldemort's robe began to smolder, no his entire body. Flames burst out all over his thin form and Voldemort screamed even louder as he became a human torch immolated in an all-consuming magical fire. A fire that took only seconds to reduce the body of the dark lord to ashes.

Harry stared wide-eyed, hope springing up inside his chest. He struggled to get free, while Wormtail stood there staring, in mind-less shock.

Then the ashes stirred, shifted and grew. A form took shape, growing rapidly into the shape of a man.

Harry froze in trepidation.

Lord Voldemort rose again.

He drew a ragged breath. _"Wormtail! What did you do to me?"_

Small magical flames sprouted all over his body, rapidly growing and merging together to once again engulf his form, reducing it to ashes.

And yet once again the ashes stirred, shifted and grew into the figure of Lord Voldemort, only to again become engulfed in flame and be reduced to ash.

Again ... and again ... and again ... and again ... endlessly.

Some feet away, as Wormtail stared at the spectacle in shock, blood loss began to take its toll. Wormtail collapsed to his knees and then over on his side, blood pooling around him. His eyes stared sightlessly.

Harry eventually managed to get free. Picking up his wand, he levitated Wormtail's body over near Cedric and playing a hunch managed to take both bodies back to Hogwarts.

A bemused headmaster would later sum it up with the simple sentence, "Hmphm, Phoenix tears. Who would've thought!"

***

 _Vignette 2_

Suddenly, Lord Voldemort shuddered, his shoulders hunched up and his snakelike face contorted as if in great ... pain. He drew a ragged breath, "Wormtail, what have you..." Voldemort fell to his knees, doubled over in paroxysms of agony. "Ahhhhrrg!" he screamed.

Wormtail backed away in fear, clutching the bloody stump of his arm to his chest.

Beneath the robe, Voldemort's form began to twist and shift and change. The bald head began to elongate, the snake like face became even more ... snakelike ... elongating into a true snake's head. Moments later, an enormous snake slithered its way out of the robes.

Wormtail took a hesitant step closer to the snake. "Master?" he fearfully queried.

Quick as a blink, the snake struck at Wormtail. Once, twice.

Wormtail staggered backwards with a scream of pain and collapsed. He shuddered for several minutes and then became still. The snake slithered over to the corpse. Its jaws opened to an enormous width and it began to...

Harry looked away and frantically struggled to get free. Upon managing it, he glanced over towards where the snake had been and quickly looked away. He was sure that it would be busy for a while.

He ran over to grab his wand. On a hunch he grabbed Cedric's robes and summoned the goblet.

An hour later, the headmaster returned to examine the scene to find the snake still struggling to engulf its ... meal. His examination proved that the snake was quite mindless and without intelligence.

A bemused headmaster would later sum it up with the simple sentence, "Hmphm, basilisk venom. Who would've thought!"

 **Chapter 2 - Be sure to use the right amounts.** ** _  
_** **  
**Spells are finicky things. You have to do things just right to get the results you want. One wrong syllable, one wrong gesture and it's "OH-OH ... Did I do tha-a-a-t?"

This is even more true of potions, and rituals. It is imperative that ingredients are exactly right and in the exact right quantities. This is especially true of Resurrection Rituals.

Vignette 1

 _"Flesh — of the servant — w-willingly given — you will — revive — your master."_

Wormtail was gasping and moaning with agony. Not until Harry felt Wormtail's anguished breath on his face did he realize that Wormtail was right in front of him.

Harry opened his eyes and was sickened at the sight of Wormtail's arm, cut off well above where the hand and wrist should be.

*** __

 _"B-blood of the enemy …_ _forcibly taken …_ _you will …_ _resurrect your foe."_

*** __

The bright light and sparks emanating from the cauldron extinguished. A surge of white steam billowed thickly from the cauldron instead, obliterating everything in front of Harry, so that he couldn't see Wormtail or Cedric or anything but vapor hanging in the air….

 _It's gone wrong,_ he _thought …_ _it's drowned …_ _please …_ _please let it be dead…_ __

But then, through the mist in front of him, he saw, with an icy surge of terror, the dark outline of a man, rising slowly from inside the cauldron.

"Robe me," said the high, cold voice from behind the steam, and Wormtail, sobbing and moaning, still cradling his mutilated arm, scrambled to pick up the black robes from the ground, got to his feet, and pulled them one-handed over his master's head.

The man stepped out of the cauldron, staring at Harry … and Harry stared back into a face that had haunted his nightmares for the past year. Wispy gray hair surrounded a mostly bald head, ratlike beady red eyes and a pronounced nose with rat whiskers to the sides.

Lord "Wormtail" Riddle had risen again.

Vignette 2

 _"Bone of the father, unknowingly given, you will renew your son!"_

The surface of the grave at Harry's feet cracked. Horrified, Harry watched as a thick trickle of dust rose into the air at Wormtail's command and fell softly into the cauldron. The diamond surface of the water broke and hissed; it sent sparks in all directions and turned a vivid, poisonous-looking blue.

*** __

 _"Flesh — of the servant — w-willingly given — you will — revive — your master."_

*** __

 _"B-blood of the enemy …_ _forcibly taken …_ _you will …_ _resurrect your foe."_

*** __

Voldemort slipped one of those unnaturally long-fingered hands into a deep pocket and drew out a wand. He caressed it gently too; and then he raised it, and pointed it at Wormtail.

Nothing happened.

Voldemort pointed it at Wormtail again.

Nothing.

He jabbed it at Wormtail determinedly.

Nothing.

Voldemort carefully chanted "Wingardium Leviosa" and jabbed the wand at Wormtail again.

Nothing.

Fear overtook Voldemort's features. He cast spell after spell with the fear on his face becoming panic and then terror.

Nothing happened. No effect. No magic.

He dropped the wand and fell heavily to the ground, a look of despair on his visage.

Moments later, he looked up to see Wormtail and the despair was replaced with rage. He leapt up and staggered to Wormtail and proceeded to kick him hard and viciously again and again and again. He stopped only when he realized that Wormtail was dead, quite likely from bleeding out if not from the kicks.

He stepped away from the corpse. Spotting the silver dagger, he seemed to be reminded of his 'guest.' He picked up the dagger and turned to him, a malicious smile on his face.

Rage overtook him as he realized that Harry Potter had escaped from his bonds. He looked around wildly and spotted _the boy_ standing up from near where the 'spare' had fallen.

Voldemort had barely taken a step towards _the boy_ , when _he_ jabbed his hand at him and cried out 'stupefy'. Voldemort reflexively tried to bat the spell away with his wand. Only he was not holding his wand, but a knife. And his magic wasn't working.

Everything went black.

Dumbledore would later explain to Harry, that Voldemort had lost the majority of his magic, now being somewhere between a muggle and a squib.

Vignette 3

 _"B-blood of the enemy …_ _forcibly taken …_ _you will …_ _resurrect your foe."_

Harry could do nothing to prevent it, he was tied too tightly…. Squinting down, struggling hopelessly at the ropes binding him, he saw the shining silver dagger shaking in Wormtail's remaining hand. He felt its point penetrate the crook of his right arm and blood seeping down the sleeve of his torn robes. Wormtail, still panting with pain, fumbled in his pocket for a glass vial and held it to Harry's cut, until it was half full.

He staggered back to the cauldron with Harry's blood. He poured it inside. The liquid within turned, instantly, a blinding white, sparks shooting out.

A surge of white steam billowed thickly from the cauldron instead, obliterating everything in front of Harry, so that he couldn't see Wormtail or Cedric or anything but vapor hanging in the air….

 _It's gone wrong,_ he thought _…_ _it's drowned …_ _please …_ _please let it be dead…_ __

But then, through the mist in front of him, he saw, with an icy surge of terror, the dark outline of a man, rising slowly from inside the cauldron.

"Robe me," said the high, cold voice from behind the steam, and Wormtail, sobbing and moaning, still cradling his mutilated arm, scrambled to pick up the black robes from the ground, got to his feet, and pulled them one-handed over his master's head.

The man stepped out of the cauldron, staring at Harry … and Harry stared back into a face that had stared back at him in the mirror for years, albeit this time with blood red eyes.

 _His_ face. __

"What?" said Harry.

"What?" said Wormtail.

Voldemort, seeing something very off in their reactions, looked down at his 'hands.' His eyes widened. They were not his hands.

"What?" said Voldemort.

 __ **Chapter Three - Always be certain you are collecting the** ** _correct_** **ingredients.**

Vignette 1

Harry laid upon the ground, his head aching in such agony that he felt as if his head was going to split open.

He felt himself being levitated and dragged across the ground. Squinting his eyes open against the pain, he caught a brief close glimpse of a statue with a name beneath it in the flickering wandlight. Then he felt himself turned and bound to the tombstone. The first name was so faded and worn away he couldn't read it, but the last name was more clear and it awoke a deep feeling of panic inside him: RIDDLE.

*** __

The bright light and sparks emanating from the cauldron extinguished. A surge of white steam billowed thickly from the cauldron instead, obliterating everything in front of Harry, so that he couldn't see Wormtail or Cedric or anything but vapor hanging in the air….

 _It's gone wrong,_ he _thought …_ _it's drowned …_ _please …_ _please let it be dead…_ __

But then, through the mist in front of him, he saw, with an icy surge of terror, the dark outline of a human figure, rising slowly from inside the cauldron.

"Robe me," said the high, cold voice from behind the steam, and Wormtail, sobbing and moaning, still cradling his mutilated arm, scrambled to pick up the black robes from the ground, got to his feet, and pulled them one-handed over his master's head.

The figure stepped out of the cauldron, staring at Harry … and Harry stared back into a face that had haunted his nightmares for the past year. But looking again, he realized that the pinched features, the mouth and brow were decidedly female, despite surrounding a pair of blood red eyes. And there were scraggly grey hairs hanging down the thinly haired scalp to the shoulders.

Abruptly, his memory flashed back to the name he'd seen on the tombstone, the faded worn away first name becoming clearer: MARY

Lord "Grandma" Riddle had risen again.

Dazedly, he snarked, "Is that you, Grandma?"

 **Chapter Four - Beware of unexpected side effects**

Vignette 1 ****

Spells are finicky things. You have to do things just right to get the results you want. One wrong syllable, one wrong gesture and it's "OH-OH ... Did I do tha-a-a-t?"

This is even more true of potions, and rituals ... especially Resurrection Rituals.

Throw in an unknown soul fragment and things can go terribly wrong.

Harry hung from the ropes binding him to the statue, his head flaring in agony, half hearing Riddle monologuing to his sycophants. Riddle's wraith in first year had left him with splitting headaches. A Riddle homunculus had his head splitting in agony. And since Riddle had gained a body, it had spread to his whole body. And to top it off, he was feeling what Riddle was feeling and seeing double through his own eyes and Riddle's.

And then Riddle reached out and touched his face, a finger brushing his scar.

The soul link flared and opened wide.

Time seemed to stop. At least for Harry. And suddenly Harry was Riddle. Living his life, seeing his memories, experiencing every repulsive and disgusting thing Riddle had done and learned. A lifetime flashed through Harry's mind in seconds.

And then Riddle pulled his finger away, and the soul link broke. Time resumed

Harry felt the pain disappear, his scar burning for a moment and then the pain vanishing as if pulled away with Riddle's finger.

Harry sagged in relief. And as Riddle resumed monologuing his toadies, Harry breathed deeply trying to gather his wits and his strength. He didn't understand what had happened, only that Riddles mere presence no longer _hurt_. But he was sure that very soon Riddle would finish playing up to the morons around him and get down to some serious torture with him as the object of his attentions.

Unfortunately, Harry was all too right.

* * *

"And now - we duel."

Voldemort raised his wand and quick as Harry could blink cast the Cruicatus Curse again.

Harry - dodged. In many ways this was a _very familiar_ situation. Being hurt and in pain, surrounded by bullies determined to hurt him more. Him pulling up every ounce of strength he had from deep inside him to escape or fight back. He was well used to that. He focused on denying his pain and weakness and pulling on his inner strength. A strength he now recognised as a deep well of magic. _His_ magic.

"Well, it appears that you do have some small skill," smirked Voldemort.

Harry was suddenly quite certain that Voldemort was going to cast twice to catch him as he moved. And a memory flashed across his mind of just what to do.

"Crucio. Crucio."

Harry dodged the first spell, and as he did, called up a small focused shield charm at the tip of his wand and ... _batted_ the spell to the side and into a Death Eater who screamed in agony.

Voldemort paused. "Well," he drawled, "it appears that you take after your father in more than looks."

Harry focused himself. He was certain Voldie was done playing and would be going for serious damage. Quite likely a spell chain, one that his-Riddles-memories indicated was a favorite. Unfortunately for Moldie, Harry knew just the right set of moves to disrupt the chain and turn it back on Riddle and his idiots. One that Harry's father had used long before.

Seconds later, Harry had batted two more spells into the Death Eaters, then blasted the ground at Riddles feet with an overpowered curse, knocking him across the ground into some more Death Eaters and turned himself invisible. In the confusion, he raced for Cedric's body, summoning the Cup to him just as he reached it. Based on the memories, he was sure it would return him to Hogwarts.

As the portkey activated, Harry could hear Voldemort screaming, "Find him. Kill him."

Author's note: In case it is unclear, when Voldie touched Harry, the soul fragment loosely attached to Harry recognised its original other part and pulled away from Harry to reattach to Riddle.

And Harry has truly become Riddle's equal in skill and ability.

Vignette 2

Harry hung from the ropes binding him to the statue, his whole body in agony. Riddle's wraith in first year had left him with splitting headaches. A Riddle homunculus had his head splitting in agony. A Riddle in a body left his entire body afire in pain. And then Riddle reached out and touched his face, a finger brushing his scar.

Harry screamed the scream of the damned.

And Riddle ... froze.

Time stopped. At least it seemed that way for Tom Riddle and Harry Potter.

The link between Tom and Harry, had strengthened at each step - from wraith possessed professor to homunculus to full embodiment - and swelled into a full blown mind-meld. The two became one. Tom/Harry saw/experienced/lived Harry's life. Harry/Tom saw/experienced/lived Tom's life.

Tom fought to escape, to separate from Harry with everything he could bring to bear, but as Harry/Tom saw/experienced/lived the terrible things Tom/Harry had done, the murders, the tortures, Harry/Tom felt something that Tom/Harry could not: Remorse. Remorse for each act of pain caused another, each act of murder, each act of dark magic.

Across the British isle, a ring, a cup, a diadem, an amulet and a snake shattered or convulsed and died breaking the magical bonds that kept Tom among the living.

The breaking of the bonds sent a wave of magic sweeping though the meld, shattering _it_ as well.

Tom staggered back towards his followers. His eyes widened, mouth opened to scream in fear and pain, but before he could utter a sound he turned to ash and dust and faded away.

And Harry, hanging from the ropes, suddenly straightened. The ropes disintegrated and his wand laying near Cedric flew to his hand.

The gathered Death Eaters, stunned by the sudden destruction of their Lord just as he had returned to them turned at the motion of the wand flying to Harry. They raised their wands in menace, but then the boy's eyes and wand began to glow with power.

The Death Eaters ran. They didn't get far.

Vignette 3

Harry hung from the ropes binding him to the statue, his head flaring in agony, half hearing Riddle monologuing to his sycophants. Riddle's wraith in first year had left him with splitting headaches. A Riddle homunculus had his head splitting in agony. And since Riddle had gained a body, it had spread to his whole body. And to top it off, he was feeling what Riddle was feeling and seeing double through his own eyes and Riddle's.

And then Riddle reached out and touched his face, a finger brushing his scar.

The soul link flared and opened wide.

And Riddle and Harry both ... froze ... and in the depths of their minds screamed the scream of the damned.

Time stopped. At least it seemed that way for Tom Riddle and Harry Potter.

The link between Tom and Harry, had strengthened at each step - from wraith possessed professor to homunculus to full embodiment - swelled into a full blown mind-meld. The two became one. Tom/Harry saw/experienced/lived Harry's life. Harry/Tom saw/experienced/lived Tom's life.

Unfortunately for the Tom half, being as it was a heavily damaged fragmented soul, it could not withstand the overwhelming strength of Harry's _pure_ and _whole_ soul. It began to, for lack of a better word, _overwrite_ Tom's incomplete soul. His mind and memories began to fragment and fade.

Tom fought to escape, to separate from Harry with everything he could bring to bear, but in the first seconds it was already too late. With surprising suddenness, Tom was simply ... gone. Time resumed.

To the surrounding Death Eaters, only a second or two passed as their Master touched the boys head and then stepped back. Inexplicably, he freed the boy from his ropes, summoned his wand and handed it to him.

Then he turned to them.

They each took a step back in unison as they collectively noticed that the master's eyes had turned from blood red to a glowing white. In fact, the boy's eyes were glowing too.

They took another step back, when they saw the Master and the boy raise their wands in their direction.

With the first spell, they broke and ran.

Not many made it.

Authors Note: Not sure if I will continue this, I've run out of ideas. If you have any send them to me.


End file.
